


Support

by RadioactiveDeLorean



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Family Fluff, Ford just needs a hug, Forduary week 3, Guilty Ford, Hurt/Comfort, Old scars, injuries, lots of feels all round, stangst in there too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 10:36:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9719342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RadioactiveDeLorean/pseuds/RadioactiveDeLorean
Summary: For Forduary Week 3: Support.After Weirdmageddon, Ford is left with some horrible injuries. He doesn't want to scare his family with the details, so he tries to deal with it himself. That works, until his brother finds him in the bathroom one morning with bloodstained bandages lying on the floor beside him.





	

  


_ “TIME’S UP, FORDSY! I’VE GOT THE KIDS!” Bill thundered down the hall and through the large, open doorway into the main chamber. His current form, a swirling mass of blood-red pyramid sections, punctuated with razor-sharp teeth and long arms with jagged claws, morphed back into the standard triangle, the young Pines twins still held firmly in his hand. His voice bounced off every wall and surrounded Ford and his brother. Stan was frozen in place with horror, his mouth hanging open. Ford couldn’t bear to watch, Stan’s fez laying lopsidedly atop his head. Bill didn’t seem to have noticed their change of attire. The dream demon grinned in delight. “I THINK I’M GONNA KILL ONE OF THEM NOW, JUST FOR THE HECK OF IT!” _

  


_ Bill turned his gaze onto Dipper and Mabel, who were still wriggling and fighting desperately to get free. His eye cast a red beam of light down onto his victims. “EENIE!” Bill blinked once, his pupil changing to the shape of a pine tree. “MEENIE!” He blinked again, the pine tree changing into a shooting star.  “MINEY!” The pine tree again. “YOU!!” He blinked one final time, the last remaining image being a shooting star. His thumb and middle finger poised in the air, ready to click, Bill cackled. _

  


_ “STOP!” Stanley roared in a flawless impersonation of his brother. “I’ll… I’ll do it. Just let the twins and my brother go!” _

  


_ “I KNEW I COULD COUNT ON YOU FORDSY!” Bill tossed the kids to the ground and shrank down until he was only three feet high. He extended his right hand towards Stanley, the pyramidal barrier around them retracting into the ground. “IT’S A DEAL!” _

  


_ Stanley walked forward, his heart thumping painfully in his chest. He had one shot at making this work. He knew there was no way out. He just hoped Bill didn’t notice that the sixth finger on the gloves didn’t have a finger to go with it.  _

  


_ “STANFORD! YOU CAN’T!” Ford screamed. His own impression of Stan wasn’t as good as his twin’s impression of himself, but he hoped it was at least believable. _

  


_ Stanley ignored him, holding his hand out towards Bill. Bill cackled gleefully and reached his hand forward. An inch from completing the handshake, however, he paused. “Wait a minute…” _

  


_ Ford saw Stan swallow hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “What, Cipher? I thought you wanted that equation.” _

  


_ “I wanted it from Ford, not from you Fez,” Bill narrowed his eyes and, in one swift movement, ripped the glove from Stan’s hand. The demon clutched Stan’s wrist tightly, counting his fingers. “Nice try, Sixer,” He looked over at Ford. “You really think a little dress change would work on me? I’ve been drifting in and out of your mind for years, you really think I wouldn’t recognise you wearing your brother’s clothes?” _

  


_ Ford was shaking.  _ Shit.  _ Bill had figured it out. He’d prayed that Stanley and he looked enough alike for Bill not to notice the difference. Of course the dream demon would have realised Stanley wasn’t Ford. Now what were they supposed to do?! Their entire plan rested on Stanley impersonating Ford, then as soon as Bill entered Stan’s mind, Ford erasing him with the memory gun. He took a step backwards as Bill floated over towards him. _

  


_ “I gotta hand it to ya, Sixer. You had me fooled for a minute there. Only a minute. Did you really think this little switcheroo would fool me?” Bill snapped his fingers. Glowing blue chains snaked across the floor and clamps fixed themselves around the other three Pines’ ankles and wrists. Ford’s family were pulled up into the air, suspended above the ground.  _

  


_ Ford was tempted to run. He knew that Bill would kill the others if he left, though. Part of him guessed that Bill was going to kill them anyway. “Let them go, Cipher. Please. You can do whatever you want to me, just let them go.” _

  


_ “Let them go, you say?” Bill cackled. “Well, they  _ have  _ been suffering for a while now. I guess it would only be kind of me to  _ **_let them go!”_ ** _ He clicked his fingers. Simultaneously, Stan, Dipper and Mabel let out bloodcurdling screams, writhing in agony, before their bodies went limp. The chains disappeared and they hit the ground. None of them got up. _

  


_ “WHAT?!” Ford screamed. “That’s not what I meant and you know it!” _

  


_ “Should have been more specific.” Bill shrugged, not bothered by the three corpses lying on the stone floor behind him. “That’s the problem with you. You never say exactly what you want.” _

  


_ Ford was in shock. His family was dead. Stanley, his brother, the man he’d grown up with, his best friend. The twins… they were so young. They were only twelve, for crying out loud. They should never have experienced any of this, not even in their most horrific nightmares. Now they were dead. They were never going to go home to their parents at the end of the summer. They would never make it to high school. They never got to grow up. _

  


_ “See what happens when you make mistakes, Stanford?” Bill taunted him by lifting the three bodies into the air, holding them close to Ford. Ford turned his head away and shut his eyes tightly. He refused to look, refused to accept the consequences, refused to accept that this was  _ **_all his fault._ **

  


_ “The twins are dead, your brother is dead, and guess who’s fault it is?” Bill hovered right beside Ford’s ear. “It’s all yours.” _

  


_ “N-no!” Ford still didn’t look up, his voice cracking as tears poured from his eyes. “No! This … I never wanted this! This is all your fault!” _

  


_ “This is your fault, Sixer. YOU let them die. YOU made them suffer. YOU KILLED THEM!” _

  


_ “No! NO NO  _ NOOO!” Ford sat bolt upright in bed, drenched in cold sweat. He was shaking violently, though not from the cold. His heart pounded painfully in his throat. He gripped the blankets tightly. Gently, he lifted a hand to his face, feeling something warm and wet running down his cheeks. He scrubbed at his eyes furiously, cursing himself.

  


“It was just a nightmare,” he muttered. He took deep, steady breaths to try and calm himself down. The morning sun was shining through the curtains, bathing the floor in a warm orange glow. He eventually relaxed, his heart rate slowing down to a normal pace. He was still trembling violently. That had been the fifth nightmare in three days. He was constantly exhausted. It was getting to the point where he was too afraid to sleep, already knowing what was coming his way. Half of the nightmares had been just that - nightmares - but the others had been memories. Memories of everything Bill had done to him, everything he’d gone through before his family came to rescue him. He’d been in that sick triangle’s clutches for nearly a whole week before Dipper, Mabel and Stanley had shown up. A whole week’s worth of the most horrific tortures Bill had conjured. Those scenes were constantly swarming around his mind, refusing to give him a moment’s rest.

  


_ Ford could hardly breathe. His arms shook beneath him and he collapsed to the ground again. He’d barely made it four feet forward before his body had given out on him. Blood dripped down the sides of his face and streaked the floor. The blue chains around his wrists and ankles and the collar around his neck dragged him back towards the wall, choking him in the process. Ford had been tempted to crawl over to the gap in the Fearamid’s outer wall and jump, ending his life then and there, but the chains never let him get far enough. His whole body was in agony.  _

  


_ He had no concept of how long he’d been here, but it felt like weeks. Bill was relentless, barely giving the man a minute to recover before he unleashed a fresh wave of pain. He’d been burned, drowned, strangled, suffocated, ripped to pieces, thrown from the Fearamid, eaten, stabbed, beaten and electrocuted. Ford was surprised he’d managed to survive everything Bill had thrown at him, even despite the dream demon bringing him back from the clutches of death on more than one occasion. Bill had a hundred percent control over Ford and wasn’t prepared to let him die. Ford had already passed away three times and each time Bill had brought him back. The sensation of being brought back felt like he was being burned alive and it was almost worse than the torture itself. _

  


_ Almost. _

  


_ “Still fighting it, eh, Sixer?” Bill’s multitone voice called out from where the demon was sat upon his human throne. Ford avoided looking at him. Not just because he loathed Bill with every fibre of his being, but because the sight of the townsfolk having been turned to stone and used as a giant chair made him feel physically sick. “You know, you could still give me that equation and I’ll end your suffering. Either by restoring you to perfect health, or letting you die for good. Mind you, since you don’t seem to like me very much, I might just let you die.” _

  


_ Ford ignored him, his arms still trying pathetically to get his body off the ground. It was still no use as every time he got up, his strength would fail and he’d collapse again. He had lost far more than a single body’s worth of blood by now, surely. It was streaked all over the walls, the floor, soaking his clothes. His hair was a matted mess, almost entirely stained crimson. Both of his legs were broken in numerous places. Shards of bone stuck through the flesh on his knees, tearing through ligaments, muscles and skin. One or two smaller flakes of bone had snapped completely off and now lay on the ground in the corner. His ankles were crushed, his feet a horrific mangled mess of flesh and blood. Every time he moved them, his entire body would erupt in a torrent of white-hot pain. He was tempted to keep moving them, in the hope that the sheer agony would make him pass out. _

  


_ Bill narrowed his eye and drifted over to his prisoner. Grabbing hold of the chain attached to Ford’s neck, he yanked the man forcefully up into the air. “Answer me when I’m talking to you Fordsy.” _

  


_ Ford let out a strangled, weak cry of pain. His head spun dizzyingly. He struggled in vain to keep the tears from flowing down his cheeks. The streaks cut through the blood on his face, leaving two clear, straight lines running down his face. “You’ll just have to kill me for good. I’ll never…. Never tell you that equation.” _

  


_ Bill rolled his eye and tossed Ford up into the air. The chains pulled taught, suspending Ford in the air in the middle of the room. The demon snapped his fingers. Ford felt an ice cold flood of air rush over his body and he looked down, watching the blood disappear and his broken bones fix themselves, leaving no traces behind. This was bad. It meant Bill was going to put him through a fresh round of torture. _

  


_ The dream demon gestured for his Henchmaniacs to come over. The group of interdimensional nightmares stood beneath the man. Bill hovered directly in Ford’s line of sight before striking the man with an agonizing beam of electricity. Ford let out a scream that tore his throat apart. Tears ran down his face as he was struck again and again and again.  _

  


Ford shuddered violently and stood up. Pain shot through his body and he had to lean against his nightstand to stop himself from collapsing there and then. Damn. He’d forgotten about that. The last lot of torture Bill had put him through - several bursts of hundreds of volts of electricity - had left horrific burns on his wrists, neck and ankles. He had spent the last few days treating them himself. He didn’t want to tell the others about them - Stan was still regaining his memories and the kids were far too young to see anything like that. So far, he’d managed to keep them hidden. It had been excruciatingly painful to walk for the last few days, but if he had managed to withstand Bill’s torture, he could put up with this. 

  


Biting his tongue and pushing himself upright, Ford limped towards the door. It was still early enough in the morning for him to be the only one in the house who was awake, giving him perfect opportunity to have a shower and get dressed before anybody else was up. He picked up a spare turtleneck sweater, clean underpants and a pair of old jeans and opened his bedroom door slowly. The floorboards creaked noisily beneath his feet and he winced. He didn’t want to wake anybody up unduly. The last week had been incredibly stressful for everyone and he didn’t want to keep them from their well-deserved rest. Stepping carefully, Ford crept towards the bathroom at the end of the hall.

  


Once inside, Ford shut and locked the door. Even though he knew no-one else in the house was awake, he didn’t want to risk anyone coming in while he was in the shower. Not just because he wanted to save both himself and whoever it happened to be from the embarrassment, but because he didn’t want to cause concern regarding his injuries. Carefully removing his sweater and undershirt, Ford bent down and slid his trousers off his legs. He stripped himself of every article of clothing save for his glasses. He caught his reflection in the mirror on the wall and swallowed. Damn, he still had to take the bandages off. He couldn’t possibly shower with them on - his injuries needed to be cleaned and the bandages changed. 

  


Taking a deep breath, Ford carefully peeled the bandages away from his ankles first. The bottom layer stuck to his exposed, burned flesh and elicited a sharp hiss of pain from the man. He bit his lower lip and pulled the bandages away slowly. Part of his mind nagged him, telling him it was like removing a Bandaid - best done as quickly as possible with no hesitation. Another part of him warned that it may cause further damage. He listened to the second voice and gently tugged the bandages away. The flesh underneath was a reddish colour. The skin at the edges of the wound was a filthy burned charcoal colour. The skin just inside it was a horrible blood-red. Most of the flesh in the middle was pale and sickly. Small patches of it oozed yellow pus, indicating an infection. Ford swore. Damn, that wasn’t good. He successfully removed the blood-marked bandages from his ankles and moved onto his wrists. They had similar injuries to them - horrible scarred bands about three inches wide running the whole way around. He accumulated a pile of dirty bandages atop the closed toilet lid and reached his trembling hands upwards towards his neck.

  


These ones were the worst. He still found it difficult to breathe, even days after Weirdmageddon had ended. Ford’s hands shook as he grasped the bandages around his neck and started to unravel them. The embarrassingly optimistic “All Star” tattoo that had once adorned his neck had been burned clean away. Bill’s torture had surprisingly been an effective tattoo removal technique - the only benefit of the electrocution. His skin would likely never fully grow back to cover his scars, even if he were to undergo a skin graft. At his age, he wasn’t sure if that would even work. Once all of the bandages had been removed, Ford removed his glasses and turned the shower on, set the water temperature to low and stepped in. The cool water soothed his burns, causing him to sigh in relief. At least this part didn’t hurt.

  


Eventually, Ford made himself get out. As much as he would have liked to spend ages in the shower, he knew it would raise Stan’s water bill by a considerable amount. He couldn’t pay for himself (any money he had was either outdated or simpy not valid in this dimension) and he wasn’t goint to make Stan do it. Ford placed his glasses back on his face. He wrapped one towel around his waist and scrubbed his hair dry with a second one. He gently patted his burns dry, wincing as they stung in protest to the contact. He pulled the underwear and jeans on first, being extremely careful with the burns on his ankles. He rolled the bottoms of the legs of the jeans up to his knees, sat on the closed toilet seat and examined the burns. Ford winced. They were slightly better than before, but considering the state of them, that wasn’t saying much. 

  


Taking a deep breath, he reached for the bottle of disinfectant in the cabinet above the sink. It was iodine. Ford knew damn well how much that stuff stung wounds, but there wasn’t any other alternative. It was all he could find. He would have thought that Stanley would have stocked something else, but evidently not. Unscrewing the cap, Ford grabbed some paper towel and dabbed the iodine onto it. His hands were already shaking again. This was going to hurt. Biting his lip and holding his breath, Ford pressed the paper towel against his left ankle.

  


White-hot agony erupted all over the wound, causing Ford to struggle to hold back a painful scream. He whimpered, biting his lip harder, before dabbing the rest of the wound with the disinfectant. He had to get this over and done with as soon as he could - he couldn’t risk keeping his wounds exposed much longer. Dropping the blood-stained towel to the floor as soon as he had finished, Ford took shaky breaths. His hands were trembling violently. He reached up for the fresh roll of bandages, quickly wrapping his ankle up in them. Another restrained painful cry escaped his lips. Tying the bandages off as soon as humanly possible, Ford bent right forward and held his head in his hands. Tears stung his eyes. His ankle continued to burn, making his foot go numb. 

  


After a moment, he sat up again and took a deep breath, soaking some more paper towel in disinfectant. He shifted his right ankle closer to his hands before pressing the towel down onto it. The same agony flooded his system. Stray tears slipped from his eyes as he gasped in pain, quickly cleaning his wound. He tossed the paper towel aside and wrapped up his ankle. Two wounds down, three to go. Ford gave himself a moment to catch his breath. He cursed his weakness, rubbing his eyes furiously. He’d dealt with other injuries of this severity before, why did these ones have him in tears? It was only just now that the smell of the disinfectant and pus hit him. His stomach lurched violently and he all but flew off the toilet, wrenching the seat up and falling to his knees in front of it. He barely had time to take his glasses off before he vomited. The bile only caused his eyes to water more, the tears slipping off his nose and dropping into the toilet bowl. He coughed and spluttered.

  


There was a sharp knock on the door. “Ford?”

  


Ford would have frozen in place if it hadn’t been for the stomach contents still escaping his mouth. He gasped between retches, trying desperately to get oxygen into his system. His sweat-dampened hair hung in his face. Over the sound of his own retching, Ford could hear someone shake the doorknob, before knocking again. “Stanford? Can you open the door…?”

  


“G...g’mme a minute,” Ford mumbled, wiping his mouth on some toilet paper. He tossed it into the bowl and pulled the handle down. Pushing his hair out of his eyes, Ford stumbled over to the door. He didn't open it. “What is it…?”

  


“You gonna open the door Poindexter or do I have to break it down?”

  


Ford swallowed. “N-no, I'm fine. Just give me a moment.”

  


“You are not fine.” Stanley said bluntly. “You'd better open this door or I will kick it down.”

  


“I-I’m not decent!” Ford scrambled for his sweater, tugging it over his head. He kicked the bloodstained paper towel into the corner and hoped Stan wouldn't see it. He quickly rolled down the bottoms of his jeans to cover the bandages.

  


Stan sighed. “You gonna open the door  _ now?!” _

  


Ford made sure his other burns were covered before he unlocked the door. He pulled it open slowly. “What is it, Stanley?”

  


Stan pushed the door open all the way and flinched at the smell in the bathroom. “Moses, it reeks in here. Who died?”

  


Ford bit his lip. “S-sorry… stomach ache.”

  


Stan turned to leave, believing his brother's lie, but something in the corner of the bathroom caught his eye. “Ford… is that…  _ blood?” _

  


“What?” Ford quickly kicked the paper towel behind the toilet and stood in front of it. He'd hoped Stan wouldn't have seen that. “No!” Ford became aware that something damp was seeping into the sleeves of his sweater. It was sticky and warm.  _ Crap, they must be bleeding again!  _ He risked a split-second glance at his wrists and nearly fainted. Small dark spots of blood were soaking through his sweater.

  


Stan followed his gaze and paled. “Shit… Ford, show me your wrists.”

  


Ford instantly pulled his wrists close to his chest. “No. It's nothing, Stanley, honest. It's just water! I'd just washed my hands.”

  


Stan fixed him with a stern look. It had worked on the kids when they'd been misbehaving or lying, maybe it would work on his twin too. “Ford.”

  


Ford swallowed hard. “You won't like it. Trust me.”

  


“Show me.” Stan held his hand out. Ford stared at his feet and lifted his left arm up gently. Stan took hold of his arm and pulled the sleeve up carefully, recoiling in horror at the sight of the wound. This time, it was Stan’s stomach that was lurching. The younger twin swallowed the bile rising in his throat and tried to form words. “Wh..what… how… when … ?”

  


“... Bill…” Ford mumbled. “The… the shackles around my wrists conducted electricity…”

  


“Why haven’t you told us about this?” Stan murmured quietly. “It’s infected. Your wrist needs tending to.”   
  


Ford shook his head. “It’s alright, Stanley, I’ve treated far worse injuries by myself before with no medical supplies whatsoever, and I’m still alive, aren’t I?”

  


“That’s not the point Sixer!” Stan exclaimed. “If you don’t get this seen to, you could be in serious trouble! Wait… You didn’t just have shackles around your wrists. You had them around your neck and ankles too. Let me see.”

  


Ford took a step back, pulling his arm away. “No! It’s -”

  


“Stanford Pines don’t you dare say that it’s okay because it isn’t!” Stan snapped. “Take your sweater off.”

  


“No.” Ford crossed his arms, hissing in pain as his wrists made contact with the fabric.

  


Stan shut the bathroom door behind him and stood in front of it. “You are not going anywhere until you show me your other injuries.” He crossed his own arms, his posture mimicking that of his brother.

  


Ford swallowed. He didn’t want to be arguing with his brother like this. “Stanley,  _ please.” _

  


“Show me.” Stan narrowed his eyes.

  


His twin sighed and his arms fell to his sides. “Fine.” Taking a deep breath, Ford took hold of the hem of his sweater and pulled it up over his head. He tossed the article of clothing to the floor, leaving his torso and neck bare. 

  


Stan’s eyes widened and he gasped quietly. “Oh Ford...”

  


Ford looked away. His whole body was covered in an array of scars, varying in size, shape and age. Some were completely faded, the pale skin rough and calloused. Some were new, maybe less than a year old. Stan’s eyes drifted over his brother’s body. There were so many different types of scars. Some looked like bullet wounds, circular in shape with the surrounding skin raised, making the scars look like craters. Others looked like horrible teeth marks, claw marks, inch-deep scratches that failed to heal properly. What was most horrific was the small drops of blood trickling across his chest, running from the circular ring of burnt and bloody flesh around Ford’s neck. 

  


Stan took a shaky step forward, laying his hand on Ford’s shoulder carefully. “How did all this happen…?”

  


“Thirty years spent jumping between dimensions wasn’t easy,” Ford didn’t look up. “There were plenty of people who wanted me dead. I’ve been shot so many times I’ve stopped keeping count.”

  


Stan covered his mouth in shock. “Holy crap… Ford… I’m so sorry, if I’d known-”

  


“You didn’t,” Ford cut him off. “Because I never told you. I didn’t want to burden you with any of this.” He gestured to all the scars on his chest and arms. 

  


Stan pulled his brother into a hug, making sure not to touch Ford’s neck. “We’re gonna get you fixed up, Sixer, alright? I’ll get the kids up and we’re going straight to the hospital -”

  


“No!” Ford pulled away suddenly. “I… I can’t go to the hospital.”

  


“Why the hell not?!” Stan exclaimed. 

  


“Do you have any idea how the doctors and nurses would react to this?! How the hell am I supposed to explain to them that I was tortured by an insane three-sided dream demon?! What if they ask about the rest of it? What would I say then? ‘Oh, don’t mind those, I just got those fighting aliens’?”

  


“Well what other choice do you have?” Stan countered. “Your wounds are  _ infected,  _ Ford. If you don’t get them professionally dealt with, you could  _ die.” _

  


“Well maybe that’s no less than what I deserve!” Ford snapped. His eyes widened and he clamped his hands over his mouth as soon as he realised what he’d said.

  


Stan froze, his heart skipping a beat. “What…? What you  _ deserve?  _ Stanford, what on Earth are you talking about?”

  


“I’ve hurt people, Stanley!” Ford suddenly cried out, tears spilling down his face. “I’ve  _ killed people.  _ I’ve torn families apart! I’ve ruined lives. I ruined Fiddleford’s life. He lost his sanity because I was too arrogant to heed his advice. I ruined  _ your life.  _ I turned my back on you when you needed me the most and I only contacted you for my own benefit. I never thanked you for saving my life. Heck, I  _ punched you  _ the first time I saw you after  _ thirty years.  _ I damn near caused the end of the world and the kids nearly  _ died,  _ all because I was so blinded by my own selfish need to prove to myself I was actually  _ worth something. _ ” Ford broke off, sobs racking his body and making his shoulders shake. “And even after all that, I’m still worthless…I can’t do a single damn thing without hurting someone in the process. It would have been better if you’d just forgotten about me. Mabel should have just pressed the button while she had the chance.”

  


“No,” A quiet voice behind them made the pair turn to the door. Mabel was standing in the doorway dressed in her pajamas. Dipper was standing next to her, his hand on the doorframe. They both had tears in their eyes. “Grunkle Ford, I… I’d never press that button, no matter how many times that day happened.”

  


“I-If she’d pressed that button, you wouldn’t be here.” Dipper said quietly.

“Kids… what are you doing down here?” Ford swallowed.

  


“We heard you guys arguing,” Dipper frowned. “We got worried.”

“You shouldn’t have to worry about me. All I’ve done is cause trouble. If it weren’t for me, you’d -”

  


“We’d all be dead. You saved us from Bill.” Mabel interrupted.

  


“That was Stanley… that wasn’t me…” Ford’s hands were shaking again. He realised with horror that his chest and arms were still bare and that the kids could see all his scars and burns. He ignored the voice telling him to put his sweater back on. It was too late, anyway. They’d seen everything. “He sacrificed himself for you. I got you involved in this mess in the first place. It’s all my fault.”

  


“No it’s not, Poindexter,” Stan had his hand on his brother’s shoulder again. “We’ve all made mistakes. I was the one who opened up the portal again in the first place. I put the whole universe at risk to get you back.”

  


Ford felt a lump in his throat, choking him. “It… it wasn’t worth it…” His knees buckled beneath him and he hit the tiled bathroom floor, shoulders trembling again. He felt three pairs of arms embrace him tightly. Stan was behind him, holding him in his lap. The twins had latched themselves to his chest on opposite sides. 

  


“Of course it was worth it Grunkle Ford!” Mabel sobbed. “We love you! Nothing you do or say will ever change that.”

  


Ford was startled for a moment, before leaning against his brother and pulling the twins close, momentarily ignoring the pain in his wrists. He buried his face in their hair, tears of his own running down his face. He was trembling. “I’m so sorry… I never meant to cause any of you any harm…”

  
Dipper cut him off before he could finish. “Grunkle Ford it’s okay. We forgive you.”

  


“Yeah, Poindexter,” Stan mumbled into his brother’s hair. “Quit apologizing. It’s alright.”

  


Ford smiled, before he started laughing, tears still running down his face. This time, they were from joy. “Thank you…” He whispered. “Thank you…”

  


Stan patted him on the back. “It’s okay, now, we’d better get you fixed up. You still don’t want to go to the hospital, huh?”

  


Ford looked down at his wrists. “... I’d better go. You’re right, they’re badly infected.”

  


“Right then. Kids, go and get dressed and get some breakfast.” Stanley stood up, pulling his brother to his feet. The kids got up too and darted off to their bedroom to get changed. Stanley all but dragged his brother into the kitchen, getting a frying pan out of a cupboard and getting some pancake ingredients together. “And yes, Ford. You’re eating something. I won’t have any of this ‘I’m not hungry’ rubbish.”

  


Ford opened his mouth to argue, but his stomach growled loudly. “I…  _ am  _ actually pretty hungry.” He admitted.

  


“I’m not surprised after chucking your guts like that.” Stan replied, mixing up the batter. He put the pan onto the hob and lit the gas. 

  


Ford went over to the cabinets and took out a clean glass. He went over to the sink and filled the glass with water before downing the whole lot in one go to wash away the lingering taste of vomit in his mouth. He sighed in relief, refilling the glass and taking a seat at the kitchen table. The kids came down a minute later, fully dressed. They sat either side of Ford at the table, Dipper on the left and Mabel on the right. Soon, Stan placed a plate stacked high with pancakes in the middle of the table, passing round empty plates to his family before taking a seat himself. 

  


Mabel and Dipper were quick to dig in, the female twin instantly drowning her pancakes in syrup. Ford hesitantly took a pancake off the stack and put it on his plate. He drizzled it lightly with syrup, rolled it up and cut it into strips with a knife, before stabbing a piece with a fork and chewing it slowly. Before he knew it, he was devouring the rest of the pancake and reaching for a second one. Stan ate his own at a moderate pace, smirking at the way his brother was arguing with Mabel over the rights to the syrup bottle.

  


Half an hour later, the Pines were in the car on their way to the hospital. Ford was sitting in the front seat while his brother drove. Dipper, Mabel and Waddles, (Stan refused to leave the pig at home on its own in case it wrecked the place, but Mabel refused to stay behind while Ford was in the hospital) were in the back seats. Ford laid his head against the cool glass of the window, staring at the trees as they flashed by. He looked in the rear view mirror at the kids, then to his right at his brother. He smiled. 

  
He finally had his family back.


End file.
